Mission Accomplished--Sort Of
by katbybee
Summary: One day an author name Signy1 came up with an awesome bit called "A Funny Thing Happened." Next, MoonyEstelChase took up the mantle with "Well That Escalated Quickly!" Just what exactly happened, anyway? The lunacy rolls on...and on...and...where it stops? Here. Possibly. Probably. R/R Usual disclaimers. Hugs!
1. Well, You See

A/N: Thank you to Signy1 for allowing me to drop my tuppence on the table on this one…and to MoonyEstelChase for her awesome contribution as well. And the lunacy rolls on…

~HH~

Newkirk deposited Carter at the table, which he promptly began dusting uselessly, and complaining it was dirty. He then began grinning foolishly and making exploding noises and motions with his hands. Next, he mimed pinning a flower to his lapel and babbled something about meeting Mary Jane after the dance.

Hogan growled in frustration and turned his attention to the others. Taffy handed LeBeau a pair of his own trousers. They were RAF blue, but LeBeau was in absolutely no mood to be picky. Foster knelt next to Olsen, poking him soundly in the ribs to bring him around after he had passed out laughing.

Newkirk sat down next to Carter, and vainly attempted to brush the scorch marks and soot off his trousers. He was going to have a quite a repair job fixing the tear in the right trouser knee. He was freezing due to the fact his white undershirt had been torn up and pressed into service as makeshift bandages…on of which was around his knee. His right boot was missing altogether. His garrison cap was the only thing that had come through unscathed. It was perched atop his head jauntily, as if taunting them.

LeBeau spread Newkirk's red handkerchief on the table with the remains of the two walkie-talkies they had managed to salvage. The third one had passed on to walkie-talkie heaven. Kinch looked pained as he sifted through the pieces. He muttered darkly in a mixture of English, French and Russian. When the others looked at him he glanced up. "What? Sam taught me!" *

Carter looked up. "How'd a Russian guy get a name like Sam anyway? Shouldn't it be Vladi-Vlid-Vidi—"

Automatically, everyone in the room replied, "Shut up, Carter!"

Hogan frowned. His curiosity finally got the better of him. "What _happened_?"

LeBeau took a deep breath. "Well. The bridge is no more. But the mission…" he shrugged and trailed off, looking over at Carter who was back to giggling and staging his own fireworks show with his hands. He then looked at Newkirk, who sighed, and finally spoke.

"Look, guv. We set the charges. Everythin' was fine. We waited till they went off, like always." He stopped speaking and stared at his hands.

Hogan got impatient. "And?"

Andrew piped up. "How were we supposed to know somebody hid a still under the bridge?"

"What?"

Carter grinned. "Yep! Doubled the size of the explosion. That's how Newkirk got kinda cooked. He was last in line." He went back to playing with his hands as if that explained everything. It didn't.

"Go on."

Carter looked up. "Hmmm? Oh, well, then he got shot."

"What?"

"Leave off, ya git! No, I got shot _at_. Barely grazed me knee. Doubt it'll even need stitching. Though I can't say the same for me trousers."

"Who shot at you?"

"Owner of the still, I expect."

"Do you think he saw any of you clearly?"

"Only LeBeau. An' I don't think he'll be anxious to be tellin' his mates about that."

"Oh?"

LeBeau shot his English friend a furious glare, and growled, " _tais-tois_ , Pierre!" *

Carter erupted into near-hysterics, and Kinch grinned.

Hogan rubbed the bridge of his nose. Kinch looked at Hogan. "This must be the part where Louis lost his pants…"

The little Frenchman practically vibrated with indignation. They waited out another string of French invectives. Newkirk's grin grew even wider the whole time.

"Now, now, Louis. That part _was_ your fault. You know you're supposed to go before we leave home!" He turned back to Hogan. "Bloke was hidden in the grass next to the bridge, prob'ly waitin' to check on his still an…" he broke off with a snort, his green eyes dancing madly.

The others had gathered around during the telling of the tale, and Taffy piped up, "The man took exception to LeBeau's choice of…"

Newkirk nodded and grinned. "Yep! Yanked his trousers right off 'im. Dumped 'im in the dirt. Took the ruddy things with 'im!" By the time we got ourselves sorted out, he was gone…or we thought he was. He shot at me after we blew the bridge."

Hogan said carefully, "and you didn't see the still?"

"Not then. We saw it when we watched parts of it flyin' through the air." He paused. "We figured it out for sure when Carter got clocked in the head with a bottle. That's why he's so loopy."

Hogan resumed pacing. He ticked off his points on his fingers as he spoke. "So, let me get this straight. Louis, you were in civvies. The other man was there because of his still. He never got a clear look at the rest of you. So, after Louis ummm…yeah, after the guy left, you fellas blew the bridge. He probably thought Louis blew his still out of revenge." He paused. "Not that far-fetched."

He shrugged, looked around at his men and grinned. "Mission accomplished, gentlemen. Good job!"

They watched in amazement as he strode into his office and shut the door.

On the other side of the door, Robert Hogan walked straight to his footlocker and pulled out his bottle of 12-year-old Scotch. He poured a stiff shot, and downed it. He started to replace the bottle, considered, and poured another.

 _Someday_ , he thought. _Someday,_ _this will all be funny._

~The End~

A/N: Okay, who's next? Anyone want to take a crack at the 1993 bar scene? You are more than welcome to borrow Peter Newkirk's pub, The Cap and Crown for the occasion, if you don't own one yourself.

*Sam was the Russian tailor who appeared only in the pilot episode, "The Informer."


	2. Reunion

17 Sep 65

London

Peter stepped out of his 1946 Bedford stake-bed lorry. There was a crowd out on the sidewalk, and he was pleased. He and his crew had worked hard renovating the old pub. During his years with British Intelligence he had dreamed of owning his own place, but the job kept him traveling constantly. Now he was semi-retired, and finally realizing his dream. It had taken a while to find the right place, and even longer to renovate and stock it. But it was all worth it, because at last, they were ready. A giant red bow was tied across the front doors, just waiting for the guests of honor. A tarp covered the hand-painted sign above the entrance.

A taxi pulled up and Carter, LeBeau, Kinch and Col. Hogan piled out, briefly reminding Peter of a batch of circus clowns. He grinned and raised a hand in greeting. "Just in time, mates!"

There were brief hugs and back-slapping all around, but the exchange of news and swapping of lies would have to wait. The crowd parted as Peter escorted the four men, his best mates in the world to the front doors. He introduced his staff to them and they shook hands all around. He stepped back and pulled down the tarp. Everyone applauded appreciatively…but the four men standing next to Peter were stunned. For the sign showed a vintage bomber pilot's crush cap tilted jauntily atop a royal crown. In the background proudly waved the Union Jack. And the legend read: "The Cap & Crown."

Tris, his bartender grinned. "So, Boss, you gonna make a speech?"

. "Nope…think I'll wait till 1993 for that."

And with that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his old pencil sharpener and handed it to Hogan. "If you would be so kind, guv?"

~HH~

A/N: We're getting there. Btw, cookies to anyone who recognizes the date of this reunion.


	3. Dream Job

1975

Andrew Carter was in heaven. Well…not **THE** Heaven. Not yet anyway. That would have to wait until at least 1994. But for now, he was as close as he could get. He chuckled, remembering something Colonel-er-General Hogan had once said about him, when Kinch had wondered what he would do after the war. "Fireworks, down on the farm, every Saturday night." Well…he had done a bit more than that.

He had finally landed his dream job. He was now Lead Imagineer for Pyrotechnics at Disneyland. He would be designing shows and in charge of setting off thousands and thousands of fireworks every evening, every night of the year. And best of all…he would be creating the happiest diversions on Earth.

A/N: Come on, could you _really_ see him doing anything else? Closer!


	4. Not Again!

1976

Carter's crew looked at each other in confusion. A charge had gone off prematurely and knocked their boss out. Nobody was quite sure how it had happened, but they were all relieved that he was already coming around by the time the medics showed up.

They checked him over, and determined he didn't have a concussion. When asked what happened, their chief looked the medic directly in the eye and uttered one word. "93."

A/N: And the legend lives on….


	5. Countdown

1 Jan 1988

Tris was surprised when he walked into work at the Cap & Crown. His boss was up on a ladder behind the bar hanging a new sign. Usually, whenever he needed that sort of thing done, he waited until Tris, or one of the others got in.

Tris cocked his head in confusion as he read the sign after the guv had climbed down. It read "5."

"What's that about?"

He smiled and shook his head. Tris passed it off as just another of the guv's oddities.

Later that evening, after business had picked up, Newkirk grinned when General Hogan walked in and spied the sign. Hogan laughed. "Happy New Year, Peter! Next year, it'll read "4."

~HH~

A/N: One step closer…


	6. Unexpected Encounter

~Beyond 1993~

LeBeau was perplexed. The room sort of looked like Barracks 2, only bigger, cleaner and _warmer_ and it smelled wonderful. Everything was…comfortable. Every bunk had a thick mattress, blankets, and a pillow.

And all of them were young again. Even Klink and Schultz were younger, fitter versions of themselves. How extraordinary! As he settled in with the others, he basked in the feeling of being home. Of Peace.

Suddenly, a sweet but slightly shrill voice cut through the room. "There you are! We have been looking everywhere for you! We have waited such a long time!" A group of beings appeared around the speaker, and stood waiting silently. The woman then deferred to her friend Brigitte, who smiled and nodded warmly at Louis as she came to stand behind him. Brigitte placed her hand on Louis' shoulder affectionately.

Wordlessly then, the group dispersed to stand behind each of the team members. Except for the one who had addressed them. She still stood in front of the group. She was lovely, with eyes like crystal pools and hair that was the most stunning shade of silver any of them had ever seen.

The woman smiled gently at them. "My name is Sylvia. Don't be concerned. We have known you literally all your lives. We were your guardian angels, and because you had such a bond in life, we wanted to wait to introduce ourselves until you were all together." Sylvia's eyes swept to the far side of the table, to the face of her Assignment. And what an assignment he had been!

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, and there were scattered chuckles as realization hit that the only grey-haired angel in the group was Sylvia. And the only team-member with no one standing behind him, was Andrew J. Carter.

Newkirk laughed so hard he fell out of his seat, startling his angel. "Don't do that! I'm not on duty anymore!"

That bit of information piqued his interest, until Kinch kicked him under the table and hissed, "An angel, Peter, _really_?"

Newkirk frowned and whispered back, forgetting the perfect acoustics of the room., "Can it mate, I'm not dead y'know."

Kinch's eyebrows shot to the ceiling, and an awkward silence ensued as Peter sat frozen, his eyes slightly crossed.

LeBeau stared at him in awe. "Leave it to you, Pierre. That was the most stellar faux-pas in the history of the universe!" It took a bit for the laughter to die down after that.

Hogan cleared his throat. He was curious, but also desperate to smooth things over a bit. "So, if you aren't looking after us anymore, were you re-assigned to other people?"

Sylvia smiled. "Most of us, yes. A few of us hung up our combat boots." She directed her gaze at Andrew. "I am enjoying a nice, peaceful, _quiet_ retirement."

She finally went and stood behind the man who had been such a challenge to her…and whom she had grown to care about very much. She put her hand on his shoulder.

Again, she addressed the group. "We came to say hello—and goodbye. It was an honor and a privilege to have served with all of you."

Hogan nodded his thanks. He spoke to the Guardians, though his eyes were on Andrew, who blushed. "Believe me, we couldn't have done it without you."

Sylvia chuckled, and as suddenly as they had appeared, the angels were gone.

There was a slightly melancholy look on Andrew's face. Newkirk noticed immediately. "What's wrong, mate?"

"Well, I was just wondering…I always heard each person's Heaven was wherever they were happiest."

Peter shrugged. "I s'pose that makes sense. I don't imagine we're just gonna be sittin' on our duffs forever."

Carter's grin lit up the room. "Gee, that's a relief! I was afraid I'd never get to set off another explosion again!"

And everyone in the room heard an unseen but now familiar voice sigh, "So much for peace and quiet!"

~The End~

A/N: Sylvia makes her first appearance in my story "Carter's Angel."


End file.
